I believe in the power of an awesome pair of shoes. Obviously, a majority of young women have the same appreciation for shoes that I do. My love however, incorporates a sense of trust. I rely on my shoes to take me where I want to go in life, for I am certain that the distinctiveness of my footwear defines me as a person. My addiction to shoes began when I was young. At the age of two, I received my first pair of heels for Christmas. They were no more than an inch high, built up out of purple plastic, and had a bow made from hot pink tulle glued over the toe. Regardless of the dozens of new toys surrounding me, I could only focus on my new pair of plastic heels that had cost no more than five dollars. From that moment on, I became a firm advocate for always putting my best foot forward. In September of 1995, I arrived for my first day of Kindergarten sporting a pair of white sneakers with a picture of Pocahontas on the outward facing sides and teal laces to match. I strutted into my first day of tenth grade with a pair of tan, flower print, corduroy flats that vaguely resembled tennis shoes, which I had found at Target. I began my junior year of college with a pair of metallic zebra print flats, which were a bit out of character for me, but surprisingly matched everything in my closet. On the first day of my internship in a Congressman’s district office, I wore four inch, black Issac Mizrahi stilettos with a tiny bow placed an inch from the pointed toe. I started my day with the assumption that my attire signified that I took the opportunity I had been given seriously. Ironically, those who hold higher office follow the exact same rituals as their interns wandering throughout the corridors. On Capitol Hill, policies and procedures mandate that any Member or staff seeking to walk onto the chamber floor or vote, must be dressed in formal business attire. In a sense, all officials must be conscientious of the big shoes they are expected to fill and comprehend the enormous weight their decisions hold. Officials literally wear their positions on a daily basis and it is to be expected that their shoes are rather uncomfortable. In the future, I hope to earn the opportunity to step into a related position and make life better for those in my community- while wearing my favorite heels of course. In short, my love of shoes is more than that of aesthetics; rather, it is symbolic of my persona and ambition. They represent my composed personality and constant need to be thinking two steps ahead from where I am standing. Most importantly, my shoes remind me to walk in other people’s footsteps, in order to make good decisions for those I seek to someday represent.
Elizabeth Walsh is a junior at the University of Colorado at Boulder. She is majoring in Political Science and is a self-proclaimed shoe enthusiast.
Shoe Love is True Love
by Elizabeth Walsh
I believe in the power of an awesome pair of shoes. Obviously, a majority of young women have the same appreciation for shoes that I do. My love however, incorporates a sense of trust. I rely on my shoes to take me where I want to go in life, for I am certain that the distinctiveness of my footwear defines me as a person.
My addiction to shoes began when I was young. At the age of two, I received my first pair of heels for Christmas. They were no more than an inch high, built up out of purple plastic, and had a bow made from hot pink tulle glued over the toe. Regardless of the dozens of new toys surrounding me, I could only focus on my new pair of plastic heels that had cost no more than five dollars. From that moment on, I became a firm advocate for always putting my best foot forward.
In September of 1995, I arrived for my first day of Kindergarten sporting a pair of white sneakers with a picture of Pocahontas on the outward facing sides and teal laces to match. I strutted into my first day of tenth grade with a pair of tan, flower print, corduroy flats that vaguely resembled tennis shoes, which I had found at Target. I began my junior year of college with a pair of metallic zebra print flats, which were a bit out of character for me, but surprisingly matched everything in my closet.
On the first day of my internship in a Congressman’s district office, I wore four inch, black Issac Mizrahi stilettos with a tiny bow placed an inch from the pointed toe. I started my day with the assumption that my attire signified that I took the opportunity I had been given seriously. Ironically, those who hold higher office follow the exact same rituals as their interns wandering throughout the corridors. On Capitol Hill, policies and procedures mandate that any Member or staff seeking to walk onto the chamber floor or vote, must be dressed in formal business attire. In a sense, all officials must be conscientious of the big shoes they are expected to fill and comprehend the enormous weight their decisions hold. Officials literally wear their positions on a daily basis and it is to be expected that their shoes are rather uncomfortable. In the future, I hope to earn the opportunity to step into a related position and make life better for those in my community- while wearing my favorite heels of course.
In short, my love of shoes is more than that of aesthetics; rather, it is symbolic of my persona and ambition. They represent my composed personality and constant need to be thinking two steps ahead from where I am standing. Most importantly, my shoes remind me to walk in other people’s footsteps, in order to make good decisions for those I seek to someday represent.
Elizabeth Walsh is a junior at the University of Colorado at Boulder. She is majoring in Political Science and is a self-proclaimed shoe enthusiast.